He grinned, feeling absolutely no remorse at all. “That might have been about when.”
She made a thoughtful, husky sound in her throat, and sank a little lower under the covers so his hand moved nearer her knee. Henry’s heart beat faster and he paused, then kept up the stroking since she made no objection. God help him, she was hell on his self-control. Ophelia watched him watch her, and a shadow crossed her expression. “Can we talk about something?”
He braced for a metaphorical kick in the nuts, but didn’t do more than nod. “Anything.”
“Am I your mate?”
He jerked in surprise, blinking, and found her meeting his gaze fearlessly. Something had changed—her confidence was back. It was like seeing the young woman from the bank, arguing with a dangerous mystery fae, but sitting in his bed. The wolf took notice, practically howling with the need to kiss her, to touch more of her than just her leg.
But the silence stretched and there was only one answer he could give her. “Yes.”
Ophelia nodded, as if she’d expected it, and took a deep breath. “I don’t really know what that means.”
“Neither do I,” Henry said slowly. “Seeing as I’ve never had one before. But I’d like to figure it out with you.”
He wondered what had transpired while he’d been out on patrol, what happened that made Ophelia ready to have a very upfront conversation about very personal things. Henry hadn’t expected it, but he loved every moment.
The witch still watched him, curious but a little wary. “What does that mean? You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
He hesitated. He’d agreed to go back to Montana, it was true enough. And Henry had no doubt that Nola would hold him to that, no matter what happened. “For a little while. I agreed to go back for three months to help the old pack.”
She nodded, head tilted, and waited.
His mouth went dry as cotton, and Henry felt as nervous as when he asked a girl out on a date for the first time. “You could…go with me. If you want. I would like that.”
“I don’t know if that would be a good idea,” she said slowly. “There’s a lot I have to work on with Deirdre, and she thinks there’s a way to fix my magic, and—”
“There is?” Henry sat up in excitement, scooting closer so he could catch her hands. “Why didn’t you start with that? What is it? What do you need to do?”
Ophelia laughed but didn’t pull away, and she sounded a little breathless as she looked at him from just a foot away. “It’s something with how I learned magic. I have some bad habits to unlearn, but she thinks there’s hope.”
“That’s fantastic,” he said, and abruptly reached for her. He couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t just that he was proud of her for figuring out what she needed to work on, it was that he’d claimed her as his mate and she hadn’t run screaming out the door. He’d celebrate every victory he could find. Henry pulled her tight to his chest, wrapping his arms around her, and breathed in her scent. “I’m proud of you. That’s huge.”
She laughed, though there was a hitch in her breathing. “Proud that I figured out why I’m all screwed up?”
“You’re not screwed up,” he murmured, adjusting how he held her so he could rub her back. God, he loved having her close. He’d sit there all night if she’d let him. “Your magic is just a little quirky. That’s all. And if Deirdre can help you iron out the wrinkles, that’s damn impressive. You’re the most impressive witch I know.”
“You only know two,” she said, still laughing.
He grinned, drawing back so he could see her expression. He wanted to see her laugh, wanted to memorize what her face looked like. “Still, top out of two isn’t bad.”
She still smiled, shaking her head at him, and something shifted in the air. Henry’s attention landed on her mouth, her delightfully kissable mouth, and suddenly he couldn’t think of anything else. Ophelia took a soft breath, her lips parted, and he squeezed her side in anticipation. He moved slow, gave her plenty of time to draw away or hex him, and brushed his mouth against hers in a gentle, glancing touch.
She didn’t tense but stayed soft and relaxed in his arms. He swallowed a groan of pure need and kissed the corner of her mouth, took her lower lip in his and sucked gently until she swayed toward him. Henry reined in the beast that wanted to immediately tear off her clothes and his and roll into the sheets like wild animals. He didn’t want to frighten her, didn’t dare move too fast. Just because she wanted to kiss him didn’t mean she was up for anything else.
Of course, he tried to convince his body of that and failed miserably. And pressed against her, with her practically in his lap, she wouldn’t fail to notice where his thoughts went.
But that could wait. Ophelia murmured against his mouth and parted her lips, giving him a chance to taste her. He drank her in and nearly howled in victory when she tentatively touched her tongue against his. Henry retreated, trying to draw her out, until Ophelia boldly claimed his mouth in return. He grumbled and held her closer, adjusting how they sat so he didn’t end up with a charley horse, and immediately hopped up with a curse.
Ophelia stared at him in alarm as Henry swore and rubbed his ass, scowling at the bed. “What’s the matter?”
“Something poked me,” he muttered, flipping back the covers to search for the culprit. He wouldn’t have put it past Cricket to leave a bird carcass in his bed, since the damn cat had done it before.
He found her knitting needles instead. He held up the offending items and Ophelia giggled, covering her mouth, and barely managed to squeak out, “I’m so sorry.”
“Uh-huh.” He set them aside carefully, even though he wanted to drop-kick the damn things out the window, and knelt on the side of the bed once more. “How are you going to make it up to me?”
It sounded far more seductive than he intended, but before he could take it back and soften it with an explanation, Ophelia’s eyebrow rose. Her eyes darkened and she barely moved her hands away from her mouth as she whispered, “I could kiss it better for you.”
